You Started It
by Night Strider
Summary: YAOI. Who started it? Zoro woke up and found a topless Sanji beside him. Sanji woke up and found Zoro standing before him.
1. Chapter 1

You Started It

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece and its characters but Zoro's heart belongs to me, and mine to him.

Summary: YAOI. Who started it? Zoro woke up and found a topless Sanji beside him. Sanji woke up and found Zoro standing before him.

A/N: Scant dialogues. I suck at dialogues huge time so spare me.

oooooOOOOOOOOOOOooooo

Be like and you'll never want---Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman

Chapter 1

A vertigo. It swallowed his vision, just like that. He tried to walk or even to stand up, virtually careening through the space and tripping from time to time while looking for his consciousness that fled earlier. He tried to grab it when he saw it, there just inches above his shoulder, looking still from the corners of his eyes. But it was gone before he could move and he fell, fell down somewhere and dreamed of something that he couldn't for all the world remember when he woke up. He didn't hurt himself but his head was nipping when the morning lights plashed through the windows. 'Inclement hangover.' He muttered to himself and collapsed again, smashed flat on the sheets.

The pain didn't taper even as he buried his face on the pillows. It was foolish to count on that; he knew too well pain doesn't disappear like smoke. Slowly, his senses returned and he received them with a less than warm welcome. He knew his name still, thank fuck. 'Zoro', he whispered and felt a modicum better; better, not good. Last night he was pretty sure his name was severed from the world along with his mind.

Waking up felt like a good-mood repellent, and trying to move after that only maximized his exhaustion. That being said, he knew that feeling tired when one just woke up is stupid. He also knew that lying down for the next hours wouldn't tender the headache. Why then should a petty pain as that trouble him so? Whereas typically fate could play him on, beat him up to a pulp and leave him with no scar. He was just too tough to trump everything, anything, like a juggernaut would; he was a pirate after all.

Something moved from beside him and caused the bed to shake a little. He craned his neck in surprise—which he couldn't as of yet identify if pleasant or not--and got its full blast when he realized that he wasn't alone on that bed. That bed that couldn't even accommodate a couple at a time. He uttered a near goddamn remark, almost forgetting about that murderous hangover, but was crushed to a stop by what he saw. Blond head. Curled eyebrows. And oh yeah. It was a rude surprise alfuckingright. He had been there, that tyke. He was so still that all the while he never seemed to make his presence felt even in a very accidental way, changing positions for instance. Well, he was asleep. Sanji was asleep and if he was asleep forget about trying to force common sense on him.

Zoro stared at him; Sanji was topless, just like himself, beside himself. It was pointless; pointless for him, for anybody, even for Luffy who might, not for long, have a mental condition named after him. 2 men, pirates, naked in one bed. Even a flying elephant seemed plausible. It wasn't anything of the ordinary, nor something that could be found in the vast sense of 'anything'. It was weird, shell-shocking weird, to say the least.

Zoro ran a finger to Sanji's hair just to double check if he really existed. No, it wasn't an imagination. It was reality, like the ground they stood on, like the waters they sailed on, like the sky and all that crap. But seeing Sanji there was odder than not seeing his own reflection in a mirror. Damn, what in the name of suffering fuck happened last night?

He raked his head for last night's events. They were drinking in an inn cum pub called Stomping Stallion. He was with the crew; Luffy, Usopp, Chopper, Nami, Robin and…Sanji. They got pretty drunk and tipsy like pro dipsos; nothing bad occurred, no free-for-all or anything like that. The girls were sent to a hotel nearby should anything happen. And them boys got a room for themselves and they slept in one room, but not on one bed. There were 5 beds, one for each of them, which goes to say it didn't make sense whatsoever why the 2 of them should share. He then began to wonder where the other 3 were as he surveyed the room and found them gone. Bad decision. He shouldn't have chugalugged that much of alcohol last night. But hell, wasn't making bad decisions a part of the story? Weren't books written to illustrate that point? Shit.

Zoro felt angry all of a sudden, that kind of anger that he felt superior to all obligations of explanation. He was flushed to the roots of his hair and his teeth were on edge. 'Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing fucking happened between us.' He chanted, cursing his unhealthy mental hygiene for the sake of convincing himself. But suppose—well, the humiliation of being ripped in a sword battle by a girl or anything was not a patch compared to this cataclysmic shit, that's for sure. He finally stood up, tried but, sad to say, failed to forget the fleeting image of the 2 of them together in bed, naked, he hastened to add. He grabbed his over-alls and put them on. For the last time, he looked at Sanji, sound asleep and looking as innocent as a child. But the longer Zoro held his gaze the more he seemed a revolting maniac to him. He was boring, this Sanji; even the poor selection of food in his menu was more exciting than himself.

He balled his fist at the height of his frenzy, intending to revert to childhood just to justify ramming a knuckle on Sanji's face. But something wasn't right and at the very critical moment that something literally pulled him from doing what he would. Sanji's eyelids batted; he was awake, probably marking the intensity of the green-headed sword man's glare. Zoro attempted to sneer but couldn't complete it; not having found the means to respond naturally, he turned around and upped which left Sanji a spatial room for befuddlement. The boy chef followed the other's gaits with muddy eyes. It almost freaked him out to see Zoro like that and strangely enough, he didn't know what to feel about it. He certainly felt something, there between the narrow moment he opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to Zoro, like the sensation one gets if something important happened prior. But if he was given a dictionary of the types of feelings, he wouldn't be able to identify which. It was, make no mistake about it, a lot of meaning to convey just through the exchange of looks.

So left Zoro, vaguely feeling guilty as charged and hoping, hoping so badly that in case they really shared a bed they would live through it in a silent pact, in other words, without referring to it.

'Is there a state when I can ask someone to hurt me? I feel like I'm near that point.' He told himself quietly.

TBC

A/N: I have to take note of, or in any case apologize for, the distortion of original details, or lack thereof, in this piece. To count, I have only watched 40 or less episodes of the series but that didn't stop me from being hooked. It's pathetic to live in a country where the schedule of beautiful programs like One Piece should coincide with my schooling. It sucks. And should anyone ask why I didn't get the monikers of the characters correct, it's because the turds who aired them here translated the anime in Tagalog, my native tongue; a move that is all too non-reliable. They call Zoro 'Manunubos', and I haven't the remotest idea what that is in English hence I simply call him the Swordsman.


	2. Chapter 2

You Started It

Disclaimer: As I will say over and over again, I don't own anything. Even the time isn't mine (because I should be studying). But I repeat, Zoro's heart is officially mine and I will only share him under the pretext that he screws Sanji.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Much obliged. And **airee**; hahaha! Yun pala yon; kase ang pagkakaintindi ko sa 'tubos' eh yung pagbayad ng utang. Eh medyo malabo naman yatang nangongolekta ng utang si Zoro. Ang bobo ko talaga. Tsk tsk tsk.

_For to love is much more joyous than to be loved—_Joyce Carol Oates, My Heart Laid Bare

ooooOOOOoooo

Chapter 2

He dreamed a dream without knowing it prima facie. In his dream, in that unpremeditated dream of his, he did many a thing that he thought he never had the freedom or power to do. He was there, somewhere or probably nowhere, moving as he wished, so resolutely nonchalant of the rest of the little world he left—now walking on zephyr, now flying away, now running lightly and never ever tumbling as he always had real-time.

Of course, he learned straight away that it was just a dream. Of course, the world wasn't that perfect. Of course, he would have to wake up sooner or later.

And he did.

Without rhyme or reason, he felt like laughing. He felt like giving his throat the damnest jerk so he could hee-haw to the maximum capacity of his air sac, so he could wake the dead and kill the living for whatever insane purpose he nursed as of the moment. And at the same time, he felt silly. He should get up, his sub conscious decided. Time to leave this mere rhetoric of fancy called dream, to fly back to the real world.

He never thought it would be that easy. Well, what kind of a chronic moron would find it hard rousing from a lengthy sleep anyway? People like Sanji could do lots and lots of things; they could fall asleep the moment they spread their bodies on the sheets, snore the whole goddamn night and go on acting as dumb as an anchor under the buoy; and the world could start ending without them feeling the slightest prick. In short, Sanji was that kind of moron. But today he took a break from that kind of _moronity _and he woke up even before somebody dropped an anvil on his head.

So he opened his eyes. There was light, so bright he thought god just finished saying 'Let there be light.' He knew it wasn't Genesis, like the one he read from some other's religion's book, but it was the genesis of another ordinary day.

Not so.

He cleared the erstwhile obscurity of his eyes by blinking several times. It didn't work as good as actually rubbing them but nonetheless it worked to a degree, almost ineffective however, and allowed him to recognize what was before him. He saw a face, brawny and fierce, and eyes boring from the owner's skull. The head of the face sported green hair, the go-to-hell type of dye that people mistook for lettuces. The vague expression the face wore was like something that couldn't understand a newspaper or got frustrated after trying to talk to a dog. But Sanji knew this person, knew him fucking well in fact.

It was Zoro. Ever so level-headed Roronoa fucking Zoro. His strapping crew mate who could never ever screw up. That perfectly-well-on-his-own bastard. Or was it just a mere will o' the wisp brought about by early morning unsoundness? Sanji opened his lips even before he could think of something to say; maybe Zoro could use a 'hi' or 'mornin' or something like that, who knows? But even before all these, even before Sanji could decide, Zoro shuffled to the door in heel and toe thereby packing with him that stupid expression. Sanji watched as Zoro stretched the distance between them to the extent of withdrawing out of sight, there far, far away down the corridor. Seeing the circumstances unsufficed and insufficient, Sanji elected to just forget it. Yes, 'forget it' was a blazing, jiving idea because thinking sucks huge time. Thinking should be left to the likes of Nami and Robin. Not him, never him, never was.

He sat up, yawned and scratched his belly as a getting-up routine. But he scratched his bare skin. Now he wasn't expecting that. He was expecting a cloth between his scratches and his belly, that he was sure of. He looked down and he could see pinky-winky long marks on his skin, and they looked outstandingly in contrast with it. Just below those marks was a blanket that flowed all the way down to his feet. At least he had something for a cover. He lifted it up and,

'What the—'

His eyes were enlarged by shock. He saw only his pair of boxers. This was the second time his expectation was denied and it had only been, what? 2 minutes? Why, was waking up the new vehicle for distributing disappointment? Where were his pin-striped hot pants and suit anyway? Oh, there they were. On the floor. He should pick them up lest he be the butt of cruel jokes of the accursed day (and most probably a goddamn long time after that), lest somebody saw him with only a pair of boxers sheltering his crotch. Only nutters sleep on this kind of weather with only their boxers on. Now, hold on a second; Zoro knew that. Zoro saw him. He was there just minutes ago. Zoro was, beyond any reasonable doubt…checking him out? Making cow-eyes at his semi-nudity? Balderdash. Sanji found it hard to adapt himself with such inestimable riddle. One didn't stay naked for no reason; there had to be something done about it.

He was bollixed, needless to say. Words jumbled, words formed, words came out only to be channeled in a vulgar catchphrase; 'Fuck that.' He was off-the-cuff for this, knowing well he shouldn't be excused for such folly, carelessness, whatsofuckingever. He refreshed his memory or tried. The best he could come up with was as simple and as accurate as this; he went to bed with his clothes on. No strings attached. When he woke up he found himself being exposed to Zoro's scrutiny until Zoro marched out on him. The next collectible info was, he was almost naked. The logical explanation demanded that somebody must've stripped him off those clothes either as a practical joke or anything else related to callow nastiness and, as he was afraid to suppose, lecherousness. The latter being the grey zone of the matter, all huddled as mere explanatory humbugs, how the hell was he to find answer for this? He wouldn't even dream the wildest dream of connecting Zoro with it, or would he? Even if that would be a violation of all common sense?

But thoughts that were formerly suspended sprinkled, poured, and came as an avalanche of many, many surmises, much as he wanted to forget it. He'd give anything to erase this from the record; he'd break anything, even Zoro's neck, just for that. But the wandering moments certainly made him grow melancholy on the attempt, seeing how the things that he thought could never happen were in most vivid actuality. Or at least the evidences were. Rationale dictated that he should think a great deal about it, should know exactly what Zoro was doing there, in front of him, when he was just a knock away from being stark naked. Must. Keep. Thinking. In. Constant. Revolution.

And think he did, partially due to the aid of his progressing anger but mostly because he felt his dignity shredded to pieces posthaste and therefore the need to further bare the truth behind this shenanigan, as he began to call it. But he couldn't take away the fact that all these slew his notion of male-security as regards to that junto he came to join. There was always an odd one out, there should be anytime, whatever the case, whoever the participants.

TBC

A/N: Thanks for reading again. I will be postponing the 3rd post due to school works and all that jazz. Anyroads, I will try to work on that and this time, omitting other unnecessary details whatsoever.


End file.
